Page 80 of Skating and Fake Dating
“She’d love you and your maple butter. The two of you—” He shakes his head as if lamenting something, or is afraid to speak the words into existence. “You’d, well, let’s just say she’s glad Charlene and I didn’t get married.”
The arch of my eyebrow is lost because I’m facing the phone, but the greedy little gossip in me would love to hear more about that.
To resist, I take it upon myself to swipe through a few of his photos, commenting on his dimple when he smiles, how tan he was, and the sly curve to his grin in one picture of him outside a burger joint.
“I sense a story there.”
“My buddies and I used to get up to all kinds of trouble.” His Southern rumble comes through as he chuckles to himself. “All in good fun.”
“I bet. Then where’d you get the gentleman wingman nickname?”
“Because I was tough on the ice but polite off. Mamawouldn’t have me sassing anyone unless I had my helmet on. And I never dated because I thought I had a girl waiting for me back home.”
“So you had a long-distance relationship?”
“And failed miserably.”
This does not give me hope that when I get my next assignment that we’ll be able to continue our relationship.Our fake relationship,a pesky little voice in my head reminds me.
I say, “Maybe the rejection, as you put it, was actually a blessing. Put you on a different path. One where you might find an even better life than the one you thought you’d had.”
“Who’s the wise one now?”
“I’d hardly call myself wise, especially since I’d like to know parts of the old Carson. The guy you were before you created spreadsheets to track your sleep patterns and?—”
“That would definitely be foolish and, uh, did Ted mention that? If he weren’t retired, I’d have him up against the boards.”
“Oh, he ratted you out good. But I just realized something. He said you kept to a strict nutrition plan and had Nat tracking every source of your calories. But you still ate that blondie behind his back?”
Carson hooks his thumb under my chin and meets my gaze. “Because they were irresistible.”
My secret, hopeful heart wants to think that he’s saying that I’m irresistible.
He stretches his legs long in front of him and starts to twist to fully face me when his foot nudges something, which then clatters. The dim light of the phone reveals it’s an old apple crate and not some of the equipment we stashed down here.
“What’s that?” I thought I saw something shine.
He flips over the apple crate. “A makeshift chair to keep us off the cold ground.”
The motion of the phone’s light cast a glare, and again, something flashes on the floor where the crate was. Crouching closer,it looks like a critter dug a hole in the dirt floor. Poking partway out, the sharp edge of a box glints.
“Shine your light over here. It looks like a tin box.”
Carson pulls out an old, rusty metal container. Brushing his hands over the top, he says, “There’s something engraved here.”
I squint. “‘Maple Falls Centennial.’”
“That must’ve been a long time ago.”
Bouncing with excitement, I say, “I think it’s the time capsule!”
“That would be quite the find, considering the town is under threat by developers. I can just see it now, people banding together for the love of Maple Falls, saved by time!” he exclaims.
“My grandfather told me about how it was created and sealed during the town’s hundredth anniversary. They had plans to open it fifty years later, but no one knew where it ended up.”
“My phone’s battery is almost dead.”
“I guess we should wait to open it then.”
